In that song, Salim remembers the day music first set their hearts aflame, the day they bought The White Album. It's a day Salim has come to curse, because it took them down such a difficult path. He wonders if things would have been different had they not come to Denton. He wonders if things would have been different had they just played it safe.
There's no point in this train of thought, and Salim knows it. Music was the best thing they had together, and no matter how their relationship stumbles, it's the one thing they will still understand. When Salim plays live, he performs songs that Faris wrote.
When Salim had an opportunity to shoot a video in Los Angeles, Faris sold a bass on eBay to pay for the ticket.
"When I was a scared kid inventing music in my head, my brother was the only person who believed in me," Salim says. "And after that, he was the only person who believed in me...for ever."
Things between them may get better eventually. After all, Faris made a rare appearance at Christmas. He even agreed to sit for the photos in this article, despite adamantly (and repeatedly) refusing to do so. And on a chilly fall evening, the two of them can sit on Faris' porch, in the company of an interviewer, and talk about the years they spent worshiping music, studying music, loving it as deeply as each other. Of course, the discussion turns to disagreement and discord. And then they argue--like only brothers can.